


An ordinary man

by gothikmaus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothikmaus/pseuds/gothikmaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever John was involved, Sherlock seemed to lose his ability to think rationally, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An ordinary man

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted on LiveJournal in August 2010.

Sherlock Holmes hated being contradicted. Especially in front of an audience. Especially if said audience consisted of John Watson staring at him with a bomb strapped to his chest.

Moriarty knew him. Oh, he knew him well, he had done his research. Mycroft would have been impossible to get - abducting the Prime Minister or the queen would have been easier – so he had used the only other person that mattered. Because, although Sherlock hadn't even realised it until now, John did matter. Even more than his own brother. Seeing him at the pool had left him speechless. For a couple of agonising seconds his brain had gone completely, utterly blank - something that never, _never_ , happened to him – and all he could think of was ' _John_ '. Over and over and over. And when he had seen the bomb, his first thought hadn't been 'Of course, he's just a tool, he could never be the criminal mastermind behind all this.' No, his first thought had been 'I'm going to kill the bastard.'

Whenever John was involved, Sherlock seemed to lose his ability to think rationally, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

*****

"Why do you put up with me?"

"Sorry?" John was sitting at the table, hands around a mug of tea as if he needed to warm them up.

"I constantly drag you into dangerous situations, you nearly got killed the other night and, knowing what Moriarty is capable of, being around me isn't the wisest thing to do. Any sane person would get the hell out of here as fast as they could."

"What tells you I'm not looking for another flat?"

Sherlock only raised an eyebrow at him.

"All right, I'm not. And I'm not going to."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Maybe you should."

"For Christ's sake, did your brother finally manage to brainwash you?" He brought a hand to his face and rubbed his temples. "Look, you said it: any sane person. Maybe I'm not sane. Maybe I get off on risking my life just like you get off on running after psychopaths and solving complicated mysteries."

"I wouldn't call Moriarty a psychopath."

"Call him your nemesis, your evil twin, call him whatever you want. I'm not leaving just because your conscience suddenly woke up and started nagging at you. I like helping you out, all right? Even if most of the time I have no fucking clue what's going on inside your head."

Sherlock looked at him intently for a few seconds before turning on his heels and heading for his bedroom.

*****

"Do try to sleep in her bed this time, the sofa isn't good for your shoulder."

John sighed and stepped into the living room. "I'm not even going to ask you how you knew I'm seeing Sarah tonight."

"Really, John, you only wear so much cologne when you're meeting her, even Mrs Hudson would've deduced that," Sherlock replied, not looking up from his laptop.

"Er, did I put too much on?" When he didn't get an answer, he shook his head and walked out. "See you tomorrow."

Once he'd heard the front door click shut, Sherlock stopped typing and bolted up. It didn't make any sense. John was so ordinary he was boring. He didn't have anything _special_. His only remarkable quality was the patience with which he put up with Sherlock. Then why could he drive him to distraction by simply being there - or not being there at all, as was the case now?

Sherlock grabbed his violin off the shelf and put it down again. He started pacing the room. He thought of maybe adding another nicotine patch to the three already covering his arm, but decided against it. He refused to think of John Watson as a four-patch problem.

*****

"Morning."

Sherlock didn't need to observe the way John walked into the living room, or how he sat down on the sofa and leafed through the newspaper, or the state of his clothes. His expression was obvious enough.

"At last."

John rolled his eyes. "Do you really have no manners whatsoever or do you simply enjoy seeing how people react to your words?"

"Were you expecting a congratulatory comment?"

"Well, yeah, that would've been nice."

"It took you more than a month to shag her."

"It's not my fault she almost got killed on our first date. It's a miracle she even gave me a second chance after that!"

"Then why should I congratulate you?"

"You know what? Never mind." He stood up and went to the kitchen. "You really should try to get laid," he said as he opened the cupboard. "It would do wonders to your mood."

For a short, insane moment, images flashed before Sherlock's eyes: pushing John up against the wall. Kissing him until he couldn't talk any more, just moan and whimper like he sometimes did in his sleep – war-related nightmares, no doubt. Sliding his hands under that ridiculous jumper of his, running them over his skin, searching the scars he was sure were there. Making him beg.

He blinked.

That was ridiculous. He wasn't interested in... relationships. And the thought that John of all people, plain, ordinary John, could cause such a strong reaction was simply absurd. But he couldn't deny there was something that drew him to his flatmate. Something he couldn't quite understand. Yet.

His phone buzzed. He read the message and stood up.

"John!" He called out as he went to pick up his coat and scarf. "I need help with an investigation."

"What, now? I've just made tea."

Sherlock didn't wait for a reply and made his way downstairs. He smiled as he heard a loud sigh and the sound of footsteps following him. John Watson wasn't so ordinary after all.


End file.
